


The Sermon

by leporicide (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Cults, M/M, Reaperstuck, Religious Content, The sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 08:36:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/847494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/leporicide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You think he looks great on the table and you tell him so.  Color rises to his cheeks and he looks like he’s about to back out before he looks at you from under his eyelashes and you can feel the heat radiating off him being this close.  He looks like he belongs there, laying on the table for you.  He’s worshipping you like this, his eyes burning you with a fire you’ve not felt in hell.  You wish the rest of the world gets a clue, that this is how you worship a deity, with smoldering eyes so powerful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sermon

**Author's Note:**

> In the words of Caledscratch: "TAKE ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR CULTIST GIRLS"  
> Warning: NSFW, mentions of the occult, brief moment of violence, disrespect for “holy” beings, asphyxiation, and abuse of The Divine Comedy.  
> N/A: Sex scenes are my weakness. Part of the reaperstuck storyline made by Cale and I. Hell’s setting is brought directly from The Divine Comedy. (Great read, if you’re into such stuff).

Karkat’s voice is a soft song, gentle in the crisp night air beside him.  His shirt is sticking to his skin, he’s having heat flashes, a symbol of the dead and you ache to reach out and touch his hot skin, feel the sweat roll between your fingers.  You don’t though, and he waits silently for an answer to a question you don’t remember hearing. 

He must realize it by how quiet you are and casts you a look only to be met by your raised eyebrow.  He sighs and you stop yourself from cracking a smile, the smoke on your lips tickling your nostrils, though it hardly smells like anything in this state.  Karkat can smell it though, and that idea sends little spikes of happiness in your bones.  His face wrinkles up.

“What’s it like? The Cult?”  The inquiry falls out of his mouth with as much uncertainty as a cannibal’s first time and you reach to catch the words as they crumble at your feet.  He’s something special, you catch yourself thinking but his red eyes are burning into your body that doesn’t exist and for a moment you feel incredibly real.  It’s exhilarating and a bit harsh.  You remove the smoke from your lips, let the delicate black pipe cigar hang from between your fingers as you whip him a smile, the tips of your lips curling upwards in playful rudeness.  Karkat doesn’t take pleasure in this, or the fact that you’re blowing “awful black death” (his words, not yours) into his face, passed his lips to nestle around his heart.  He scowls and your smirk nearly hurts your cheeks.

Karkat’s eyes narrow and he moves his body with a purpose, his steps becoming cruel on the gravel as he marches forward, intent on leaving you behind to wallow in your nonexistence.  Jokes on him, you’ve been doing that for nearly 400 years, what’s one more day?

After he’s a block away, he glances over his shoulders, a nervous habit to see if you’re still there.  When he notes that you haven’t moved, he stops himself and with an awkward bite of the lips and a rapidly fading anger, he nods for you to smile.  He’s absolutely gorgeous.

You’re right next to him in seconds and continuing your walk downtown.  You walk through a woman debating whether or not to abandon her husband and child for a life on the road.  She’s wavering and as you move like liquid through her skin, you plant the seed that maybe they’d be better off without her anyway.  Karkat looks at you, caught red handed and narrows his eyes.  You raise your hands in defense before taking the stick back in your mouth.  He follows your fingers with his eyes and he’s thinking of fucking you, whether he’ll admit it or not, you can read it like a book.  Sacrificing some hard earned winnings you reach out into the real world, solidify your hand and touch his.  He jumps in shock at the contact, his skin burns you but you don’t let go.  It doesn’t hurt as much as you wish it did.

He doesn’t say anything, grunts a bit under his breath that holds no intimidation anymore, and intertwines his fingers with your cold lifeless ones and you think this is how every mortal wishes they could die, with this feeling bubbling in their chest.  You wonder why your father doesn’t bottle this shit up and sell it in hell, it’d be a killer.

“A sweet death,” Karkat hums smoothly beside you, like he can read the unreadable language of your face, can taste your thoughts in the air and hear your stories in your eyes.  He’s always looking into your eyes, and you suppose it’s fitting, seeing how much you drown in his.  A river of blood where the sinners who were violent against their neighbors boil, guarded by the Centaurs in hell.  First Ring, Seventh Circle, you’ve got it memorized down to the number of screams that bounce the stone walls in an hour. 

You don’t bother correcting him that a sweet death isn’t out of the skipping of a heart, but by the power of a vicious orgasm in sex.  You take note of Karkat’s immortality and he hands you a scathing glare to match the burning up of his skin.  You blow more smoke on him before leading him down the block, a place of isolation.  He doesn’t realize that you’ve taken over their choice of destination, that you’ve long left the socialites of the city and entered into a back alleyway for the broken and the whores.  He only takes revelation of it all when a woman approaches him, your fingers the only solid part of you, and thus not noticeable, and slips her hands up his neck with a smile.  He lets go of your hand to shove her off and the loss of contact leaves you feeling irritated.  She walks away with a vulgar finger pointed your way.  Karkat’s hissing like a cat and you want to reach up and stroke his hair but the moment’s passed and you’re just a ghost in limbo again.  All fog and no thunder.

You both stop at a warehouse, the cold of the structure making the smaller of you shiver, though he hardly feels more than you do.  You laugh, and though it’s silent, you notice how Karkat watches the tremor of your chest.  You motion him to follow you as you effortlessly scale the side of the building and sit on the balcony.  You let him do his thing, quietly climb the trashcan beside the building before jumping up to scale the rails until he reaches the floor of the balcony where your feet stand.  He grips the ledge and hoists himself up. He isn’t afraid of falling, knows he’ll be up and running in a matter of seconds but you’d rather not watch him die so needlessly.  Maybe some part of you fears that one day he’ll die on accident and just not come back.  That’s the end of that.

“What are we doing?” his voice is hoarse from all the animal sounds he makes instead of talking sometimes.  It grates the air like sandpaper and makes everything so much smoother.  You put a finger to your lips, as in to shut his trap, and move into the building as he climbs through the window after you.  He falls harshly to the ground, but the sound is masked by chanting.  Just the chanting is enough to tip Karkat off though, and he’s suddenly crawling on all fours to the ledge that looms over the bottom floor. There, that’s a cult, you want to say aloud.  Donned in their customary black robes, hooded eyes and monotonous chanting.  They’re saying your name, your real name and you can feel it by how your bones shake with a power you almost feel embarrassed about enjoying.  You stand beside Karkat, who lies on his stomach with wide curious eyes.

There’s a girl on the table, and you can’t stop yourself from thinking it’s always a fucking woman there, probably a virgin, but that’s questionable in this day and age.  She’s naked, nothing new, though her screaming finds a way to blare out over the chanting enough to make you narrow your eyes in annoyance.  That doesn’t stop you from hearing the way Karkat’s breath hitches.

One of the cloaked figures steps up, a knife in one hand and a cup in another.  He’s saying something in Latin but it’s a dead fucking language to you as it is to anyone else on the planet so you watch with idle interest as he approaches the woman, head bowed low, not in apology but in indifference to her fear.  He wastes no time though, and the knife cuts deep into the flesh of her belly.  Karkat slaps a hand over his mouth hard enough to sting, to stop the escape of a whimper and you watch as his teeth bite the inside of his cheek.  He looks flushed red and his skin must be boiling now.

They fill the cup, the girl has long since stopped moving, her eyes rolled back into her head.  There’s a moment when the man removes the knife and something falls out of her, you suspect a piece of her intestine but there’s no attention paid to it.  The group says a few more choice words which sound like shit to you before placing the blood on an altar.  Someone’s tacky ringtone plays and the group disrobe like a flash mob and although this is all hilarious to you, you can’t help but feel it’s disgusting by your partner.  They’re regular people under there, which is probably the horror of it all.  Regular men and women with families and friends and jobs and now they’re cleaning up, moving the body to the furnace to burn and scrubbing some of the blood off the floor like it’s nothing but routine.  In about an hour, they have all shuffled out.  You hear the door close and practically feel Karkat stand up beside you.  He jumps off the ledge to land on the ground floor.  His bones in his legs make a terrifying crack sound and he crumbles.  In a matter of moments he’s up again, good as new, shuffling towards the stone table where the young woman was mere hours ago.  He touches it gently and you float towards him.

“Do you watch these all the time?”  The question is thick in the air, thicker than your smoke and when you turn your attention back to him from the altar, he’s sitting on the table, almost relaxed. 

You pay the small price to speak and your voice echoes sharply. “No, only when I’m bored.”  Your eyes can’t look away from his body on the table, the way he’s looking at you.  He’s turned on, you can smell it on him, feel it in the air and fuck, you don’t find it in yourself to ignore it. 

You think he looks great on the table and you tell him so.  Color rises to his cheeks and he looks like he’s about to back out before he looks at you from under his eyelashes and you can feel the heat radiating off him being this close.  He looks like he belongs there, laying on the table for you.  He’s worshipping you like this, his eyes burning you with a fire you’ve not felt in hell.  You wish the rest of the world gets a clue, that this is how you worship a deity, with smoldering eyes so powerful.  He’s beckoning you with his eyes and soon you’re pushing him down and pulling your rich tie off your neck.  He’s got an obsession with the damn thing and hums in approval over the sudden guest starring of your neck.  His lips burn your fake flesh and you want him to rip your throat out with his teeth.  He doesn’t though, but settles for a few harsh bites and you figure that’s good enough.

The items of the table shuffle about as you remove each other’s clothing, mainly you removing Karkat’s because you’re slipping in and out of reality too much for him to have a grasp on you, but you don’t mind.  You think he’s wondrous naked.  His lips are sweet, like honey and you can’t stop trying to eat him.  He rams his head against yours and leaves it there in apology, but also a warning, that he doesn’t heal unless he dies and he’d rather not like to be marked up so.  You comply but with your own terms.

With a smile, you back the fuck up.

He whines at the loss of contact and it’s this low sound that travels right through you but you don’t budge, just watch him.  He mutters your alias like a mantra.  He seems to understand your intentions a bit and slowly, he spreads himself out on your table, just as the girl before was unwillingly placed and it’s so hot, like Karkat was meant to be slashed up, abandoned by the big man upstairs and left for the hungry wolves of the underworld.  You don’t even realize that you’re growling like an animal and it’s beautifully fucked up that he smiles at you for it. A small, cute little thing that doesn’t match the fucked up weirdness of this situation.  You decide that you don’t mind that.

“Lick your fingers.”  You don’t even notice you said that out loud, the only tip is the roll of Karkat’s eyes, as if to say, really? But he doesn’t argue and in pops a finger into his mouth.  He doesn’t so much lick his fingers as he greedily sucks them. This submissive display, accompanied by a lustful stare from unwavering eyes puts a metallic taste in your mouth and you drag your tongue across your lips.  Karkat’s eyes fall half mass and soon he’s sticking another finger into his mouth before pulling them out slowly, saliva glistening in such shitty lighting.  You don’t even give him the next order before he’s wrapping his fingers around himself.  You stuff your own hands into your pockets to stop yourself from the desperate need to touch him.  He strokes himself slowly, his cock weeping precum but his eyes never looking away from yours and that’s nearly hotter.

He’s making little moaning sounds now, getting needy for you, and by the growl that follows each whine he’s reluctant to admit it.   “Gamzee,” he’s murmuring now, hand moving faster, and it almost looks painful but god, he needs you so much and you can feel it in the way he calls to you.  He chants and chants, but it isn’t monotonous, it’s cruel and harsh and lovely and desperate. Without him meaning to, he chants for you with your real name and that’s all it takes. 

You’re on him in the next second, and he’s practically screaming for you as you spread his legs and finally shove yourself inside.  He’s bleeding, fuck if he isn’t, but it’s mild and it heals nearly immediately and Karkat doesn’t tell you honestly but the blowing of his pupils tells you that he loves it.  His nails dig into your back, through the silk of your shirt as you fuck him into the stone.  He’s still screaming, but there are pauses when he’d rather kiss you.  His tongue doesn’t leave your mouth for too long and he’s so warm and you want him to worship you forever and you want him to follow you into the darkness and let himself be swallowed up by the wolf that’s in you.  You want him to need you almost as much as you need him.

He clenches around you, and you know it’s over by the way he’s whispering your name instead of shouting in your ear.  Without thought, your fingers rise up and wrap around his neck, applying brutal pressure.  His face goes red in seconds and then blue, his nails dig into your wrists sharply as he tries to claw you away.  Karkat’s breath leaves him right when he reaches his peak and then he’s gone.  Still soft, his skin cools evenly under your fingertips.  His heart stops beating and his chest goes still.  You finish right when his eyes burst open and he gasps for air.

It takes him a moment to gather himself, to wipe the tears that were forming that you hardly noticed before, and gently push you off of him.  You follow the action without a word and let your outfit re-materialize itself.  Karkat isn’t like you though, and he struggles with his pants for a moment before slipping on his sweater.  His temperature has calmed down and he isn’t sweating as much as before.  He’s shuffling to you, absentmindedly touching the bruise of your fingers on his neck.  He glares at you when he reaches his destination beside you by the altar, where you place the now empty glass back in its previous position.

“Sweet death,” you hum out to him as you move gracefully towards the door.  He stands there awkwardly for a moment.

“Wha…what the fuck?”  His eyes are looking at you in horror before he’s running to catch up to you. Neither of you say anything, neither of you need to as you move through the shady alleyways and reach the flickering lights of a motel.  When the two of you sleep that night, you think you hear Karkat praying and maybe a mutter of your name but that could just be your god-like ego talking.  Nevertheless, he falls asleep watching you with red eyes and a small smile on his face and you watch him sleep with one of your own.


End file.
